


Life Burns, but Love Scorches

by voldydoitsu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Developing Relationship, a world where people have powers but its like casual dont ask, super heroes and super powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 05:26:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18543196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voldydoitsu/pseuds/voldydoitsu
Summary: A series of oneshots I have written at completely random times about two ocs of mine, Ron and Janae. For context, they both have super powers. Ron can make fire in his hands, and Janae can put people to sleep at the expense of her own ability to sleep. This isn't in any kind of chronological order.





	1. Night Time

Jolting from the latest flash of blood on dark skin and scared, exhausted eyes meeting his with confusion, his eyes blinked open to the dark, unadorned ceiling that was raised above his head. His heart pounded in his chest, and he needed to feel her skin just for a moment, feel the steady beat of her pulse to slow down his own. His hand shifted over the other side of the bed, reaching for the warm body that was next to him, only to meet cold air and a warm blanket.

Focusing his eyesight, he tilted his head towards the side of the bed. Empty. Recently, too. For a moment, his body and mind shifted and twirled around, feeling heavy with confusion and exhaustion. The sweat was cooling on his forehead, making it easier to focus on something. He grabbed her pillow and pulled it towards himself as much as he dared, taking a moment to breathe in her scent. Cinnamon, with an underlying touch of antiseptic sharp enough to wake him up a little.

With a groan, he pushed himself out of the bed and sat up. Pushing his hands into his eyes, he took another moment to think. She... wasn't there. Did she go to work... maybe? He would have heard the call. Yeah. So... she's still here.

In a slight stupor, he shifted his way off the bed and hit carpeting. He didn't have a problem navigating the dark room, fingers lighting up with small crackles of fire whenever he wasn't sure how close to the wall he was. Better keep it to a minimum if he wanted another chance at sleep later on. His eyes opened and closed, both harder to do the longer he stayed up. 

Blinking, he realized he reached the door a while ago. Swaying slightly, he used his fingers to force an eye uncomfortably open, sucking in a small breath at the cool air that hit his eye. Doing it with the other one, he made a last attempt to stay up by smacking his face lightly before trying the door.

Not locked, but still dark in the hallway. He bit his lip, feeling slightly more alert than before, and moved forward. The hallway was empty, and only had two other doors in it. He didn't bother going towards the kitchen/living room area. There was no sign of life there, and she never felt too comfortable in such an open area anyway.

Turning to the nearest door, he opened it and tried to walk through. His face was smacked with coat hangers and heavy winter jackets. Ah right, he forgot. He backed up and closed the door again, having to shove the clothes further in to properly close the door. If he wasn't awake before, it felt like it now. Instead of speaking, he just shook his head and turned to the next door.

It opened with a small creak, and he made sure to put some weight on the floor to make a sound to alert her if she was in there. If she extended herself because he simply spooked her, he could never forgive himself. The room was still dark, but not big enough to hide anything well. With his eyes adjusted to the lack of light, he could see a dark figure crouched on top of the toilet, head in their knees. She hadn't acknowledged his presence yet, so he knocked lightly on the door.

She shifted in her seat, but he couldn't really see what she was doing. "I'm going to make a small light, ok?" He whispered into the darkness. She didn't move. "Close your eyes..." 

A small flame burst forth in the palm of his hand, and with it, the room was illuminated with a sepia filter. Her face was more visible now, dark eyes set deeply into her face with heavy shadows clinging beneath them. She stared at him, face blank, and he tried not to cry. Instead, he slowly walked across the carpeted floor to where she was sitting, staying in her line of sight.

When he reached her, he crouched down gently until they were eye level. She looked right through him, eyes distant but wary. His chest hurt, and his flame burned a little brighter. 

"Janae?" His words were lost to the darkness around them, barely keeping flight in the small light he had summoned. She tilted her head, but otherwise didn't move. 

He reached over and took her hands in his gently. She startled, but soon let them relax in his soft grip. He hated the callouses on her hands, but wrapped his fingers around them as lightly as he could. Her name left his lips again, and this time her eyes met his. Dark purple eyes focused for a brief moment, and he could read the recognition in her face. She looked down at her knees, then back up at his face.

Finally, her blank face broke into one of worry. "Did I wake you?" She didn't need to whisper, but her soft voice made it sound like she was. The darkness swallowed any extra reverberations anyway.

He swallowed. "No. Just a dream." She relaxed more, legs slipping from the toilet cover to touch the ground and back leaning against the seat. 

A small squeak left her mouth when he suddenly pulled her into a hug. "Ronnie?" He didn't move. The hug was as hard as he could bear to let it be, just cradling her shoulders with his biceps and clasping his hands together on her back. Her head moved perfectly into place on his shoulder. It felt natural. Safe. How it was meant to be.

The words must have slipped from his mouth, because she slipped from his grasp with a small chuckle and a kiss on the cheek. Before he could grab her again, she backed up to the open doorway. "You're half asleep right now. Let's go back."

He wanted to grumble, but only a soft sigh left his lips as he stood up. His muscles creaked with the effort, aching from work earlier today. He took a moment to stretch his back, bones popping and making him wince. When he looked back to where she had stood, the space was empty. He pulled the flame back into himself and left the bathroom.

The door to the bedroom was open, and coming back inside revealed her sitting on the bed. He looked to the side of the doorway. "Mind if I turn the lights on if neither of us are going to sleep?"

It looked like she shook her head, so he flipped the switch. The dark blue room instantly filled up in his eyes, though he ignored most of the details in favour of getting a better look at her. Janae's eyes were unfocused at best, and her face caved in on itself. Her hair looked unhealthy, and she hugged her body as if she needed the extra help to keep it upright. He gnashed his teeth and sat down next to her with a little more force than he meant to.

"This needs to change." He demanded, not looking at her. His hands sat in front of his face, and a finger twitched as if it recognized that he was addressing it.

Her gaze pierced the side of his head, and he looked at her in the peripherals of his vision. She stared for a moment, before turning back to look at the wall in front of her. "I know. I wish it could."

He inhaled, then clenched his fists and closed his eyes. "This is such bullshit! It's not fair!"

"It doesn't have to be fair!" She snapped, and their eyes met. Hers was the most focused they had been all night, and the cold anger contorted her stretched skin into an image that made him want to look away. He didn't. "Life isn't fair..." Her voice dropped to a whisper and her face softened.

He looked back down at his hands. "It should be fair to you. The drawback to your power isn't fucking worth it. I can't stand seeing you like this Janae! Withering away for the sake of others." He spat out the last word, rage heavy in his chest. Immediately he wanted to take back his words, but he let them simmer in the air. It needed to be said. She needed to hear this. "I can't handle this..."

A hand rested on his back, and he lifted his eyes to see that she had shifted closer to him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you have to watch." She moved her other hand to rest on top of his outstretched ones, thumb rubbing over his wrist in rythmic circles. "It's not fair to you."

He clasped her fingers lightly, bending down to give them a kiss, before turning his torso to face her head on. "We need a solution. This can't go on anymore." Her eyes darted away from his. "No. They need to cut back on using your power, or we need to find a way to knock you out for a few hours. You'll die at this rate."

She retracted her hands and clasped them on her lap. Her mouth thinned as she bit her lips. He reached out a hand and stroked it against her cheek, tracing the prominent bones laying just beneath the surface. She leaned into his touch for a moment, before pulling back.

"I hate how you make me feel. I just want to leave you out of it." The confession was nearly indistinguishable from the summer noises outside of the nearby window, but he heard it all the same. His heart skipped and stuttered in his chest, but he took a deep breath and calmed himself. Instead, he shot her a goofy smile, eliciting an unwilling smile to rise to her lips.

Turning his body more comfortably in her direction, he raised his arms. She fell into them, and the two sat and breathed together for a long while. He listened in the silence to the sound of her breathing, chest moving slightly against his own. On the right side of his chest he could feel her heartbeat, weak but steady in the quietude. Though the room was now bright, it felt more oppressive the longer he sat with his head on top of hers.

Eventually he had to back away. She looked more tired now, though her eyes refused to close no matter how many prayers and wishes he sent to anyone who would listen. He pushed her down on the bed and arranged the covers around her to keep her in a cocoon of comfort before rising back to the doorway and switching off the lights. 

Making his way around the room again, he reached his side of the bed and sat back down. "...I'll start looking in the morning." He said. His voice echoed out into the dark, but there was no response. He laid back down in the bed and raised a hand to her arm, trying to get comfortable. Her hand slipped into his, and he fell back asleep with two fingers resting on her wrist.


	2. Life Before (Janae)

Another afternoon, alone, where she should be. Young and free, Janae, they said in their last video call, our little girl looks so happy to be out in the world. It was a lie. At least, for her. She hadn't felt anything but deep exhaustion for a long, long time. She closed her laptop with a quiet sigh, before standing up. White spots danced in her vision, and an overwhelming black fog circled around her sight for a moment, before clearing away.

Shaking her head, she walked to the stairs and moved upwards, out of the cursed space, closing the door patterned like the back wall of her shop with a sense of finality. The fresh scent of the aromatic store front crashed into her nostrils, and she took a moment to breathe through her mouth before she stumbled further to the front of the shop.

Reaching the window display, she grabbed one of the candles and took off the top of it. Underneath was a bottle of pills. She grabbed one and swallowed it dry, putting the candle back where it was and turning away. She walked behind the counter and glanced at the clock. 5:32 am. Now was as good a time to start the day than ever.

Under the counter, an apron was added to her outfit, hiding minute blood stains she barely registered on the hem of her shirt. A few clicks of the register turned it on, officially starting the day and blinding her with the light of the screen. She held her eyes closed, white light dancing daggers into her sight, before forcing them back open and turning away from it. The afterimage glowed deep red, and no amount of blinking her eyes made it fade away fast enough. 

Biting her lip, she moved to the front of the store and turned over the sign. Feeling the coolness of the window on the door made her pause, and she leaned her head towards it. Her hot forehead felt marginally better, but the hot-cold flashes of her body went unchanged. After a moment, she backed away and moved toward the bathroom.

Squinting in the darkness, she made out her face in the mirror. She looked like shit. Rubbing under her eyes, she reached under the sink and pulled out concealer before applying it where need be. That would be enough. She left back through the door, absentmindedly turning on the light on her way out.

As she walked back into the main room of the shop, she looked up and was distracted. A large shadow was prominent in the darkness, though a light faintly cut through the air where its chest would be. She suppressed a groan, instead rubbing her face then cursing when her hand came back caked in makeup. 

"What do you want." She nearly growled, stating it rather than asking. "Its 6 am. Come back later tonight." She walked past him and behind the counter, idle hands going to the register to sift through the money she kept there. 

Its gaze followed her before its body did, and before long it stood in front of where she was. With a quiet grunt, it put down a cherry scented candle on the counter. She looked down at it, then back up at his(?) face. "Cut the bullshit, I know why you're here."

He gestured at the maroon candle, and after a moment of staring, she grabbed it and scanned it. With a beep, she handed it back over and muttered "$6.95," keeping her eyes on the screen. She felt the candle leave her grip, replaced with a bottle. Pulling it into the light, she grimly noted the scarlet liquid inside.

She placed it in her pocket, and looked up to where she assumed his eyes were. "And who is this for, exactly?"

A slip of paper came to view on the counter, and he turned and left the store empty. The door didn't even chime. With shaking hands, she lifted the paper into the light. Jade Stranger. I will be back in a week. She lowered the paper, reached up with her other hand to rip it to shreds.

Her hands shook in place. She rubbed her eyes and walked to the front of the store once again. Another pill, this time hidden behind one of the signs. The change wasn't immediate, but she turned the lights on anyway. The corners of her vision seemed fuzzy, but a brush to her face revealed nothing new. A deep breath, then a few more, and she would be fine. Another breath, another. 

The world seemed to skip ahead, and suddenly she was greeting customers and bagging candles and restocking and running around the shop, maintaining it, carefully keeping her gaze away from where the door was, and what lay behind it. She dashed around, helping a customer, smiling at regulars, fixing a display, picking up candles from the ground. A vial sat in her pocket, be careful, don't drop it. She ran and ran, more money passed her hands than she really counted, and before she realized it, the shop was empty and the sky was once again dark outside.

There was a blink, and the fuzziness returned. Her fingers itched towards the sign near the front of the store, but she moved her hands to the apron around her waist and removed it. They were shaking again. Aching back, but the darkness didn't care. It weighed on her mind as she locked the doors and turned off the lights, it pushed her shoulders lower as she went to the bathroom and washed it all away, revealing the deep bags that she has never shaken.

She took a breath, and another, and a few more. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her traitorous legs took her to that damn door. It slid open, and she stepped inside without a word. The tongue in her mouth felt foreign, and she belatedly realized she had yet to eat or drink today. Instead, she took out the vial and stared into it.

In the darkness, it was so deceiving. She could imagine it as a nice blue, or maybe a light purple colour. It could be different, her mind whispered, her subconscious begged, we can leave. But she can't. She can't. She walked to the device in the corner of the room, opened the bottle, and poured it in. The machine whirred, and clicked, and sat there. Useless. A progress bar glowed rust above it, not even a third full.

Turning, she collapsed in a chair and tried to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. She found herself staring into the wall, unseeing. Nothing but the black night around her, not even a window showing precious specks of light to reach out towards. I miss the stars, her brain whispered, and she shut it off.

A few moments later, there was a beep from the machine in the corner. The light faded, and something she couldn't discern from her position printed out onto a tray. I have to walk over there, she dimly realized. But her legs felt like lead, and her tongue agreed, and the cotton in her head was overwhelming any coherent thoughts. All she could feel was the organ in her chest, constricting and relaxing, pulsating. Moving her blood from one place to another, one more vein filled.

That vial once filled someone else's veins. Their heart pushed it around, it carried their oxygen to where it was needed in the body to keep it alive. Alive. Alive. She wasn't alive, was she? Her mind ground to a halt. She wasn't alive. I'm not alive. Her pulsating heart stuttered, flickered, but kept going.

Belatedly, she realized her hand was bleeding, fingers clutched so tight they broke through the defenses of her skin. Around her, everything seemed to fill in. The darkness turned into a small room, closer and closer and closer until it was down her throat and in her nose and she was trapped in agony, all alone with the night.

A week later, the circles under her eyes felt lighter, but her body felt heavier. She was back behind the counter, the clock reading a crisp 8:27 pm. The sun had set early, and with it, the shop closed down. Her slouched form sagged around a book that she could only vaguely see through what was shining from the cash register, the soft light caressing her book with steady fingers.

Suddenly, she felt a presence, but stayed in the light a moment longer. He would have to come to her. Another candle touched down on the counter, this time dragon fruit. The soft red made her internally recoil, but she refused to budge. Putting her book down, she grabbed the candle and scanned it.

"$7.62." She grinned up at him, and he watched her for a moment before handing over a ten dollar bill. Opening the register, she made sure her hands were steady. Focusing on each finger, don't show weakness, they curled around the change, some dollar bills, a quarter, her pinky twitched, and she rushed through the rest of it. She threw it on the counter and picked back up the book.

There was a moment of silence, and then a slip of paper was pushed over the top of her book. She lowered it and read the paper. And the vial? Sending a reserved smile in his direction she ripped up the paper and raised the book again.

A hand of darkness reached over the book and forcibly brought it down to the counter. What looked like a frown. "T̮̫͉̙̼̫͈̖͓͂͂̅ͪͫ͆̓̈͘ḧ̙̗̥͉́̈̕͠e̞͈͙͉͇̾͋ ̛̣̖̠̲͇ͪ͗ͦͭ̚͜v̫̭̻̲̬̫ͫͥ̑ͯ̊͘i͈̾ͯ͜a̗ͥ̅̂̿͟l͓̰̹͚͖̦̥̝̝̃̀ͨ̈ͦ̏.̨̞̠̬̳ͯ͌͒͠ͅ " he insisted. She shook her head and grabbed for the book. The hand rested heavily on hers, and she felt a thousand pinpricks where the skin touched until she couldn't feel her hand anymore. Snatching it back, she cradled it to her chest for a moment and glared at him.

"I'm not doing it anymore. You'll have to ask someone else. Or, do you want to start a fight right here?" She reached under the counter and picked up the vial, along with the paper printed from the machine. It slid onto the counter, and she plucked the book back from where it was placed and tried to read. Her vision wavered, and she waited. And waited.

A flash of bravery convinced her to look back up, and the villain stared at her. His eyes glowed, but the light in his chest dimmed. She held his gaze as long as it could, until she had to look away. When she glanced back, he was gone. Something lifted in her chest that she didn't know was there, and she gasped with relief. It was like a snake had been constricting her lungs for her entire existence, and finally decided she wasn't worth it. Air, precious air filled her lungs, and she threw the book on the ground, gripped her chest with glee.

Finally, she cried. And it felt good.


	3. Life Before (Ron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the weakest of them all so far. To be fair I was in a weird mood.

The subway was quiet in the early hours of the morning. Not as quiet as he liked after a long day of work, but it was enough to let him melt into his seat. Darkness loomed through the windows, held back from entering the car by the fluorescent white lights shining in the interior. With a sigh, he glanced around, taking note of the route plastered above his head. It would probably take about an hour to get to his stop, so he had plenty of time for a nap.

Raising his legs onto the other seats wasn't a problem, there was no one else in the car to offend. It was the book he accidentally slammed his head into that was what bothered him. He forced himself back into a sitting position, aching limbs and bruising head throbbing. Using one hand to rub the back of his head, he picked up the offending book.

Messy handwriting claimed it was a journal, and he could see with a simple flip through that the majority of it was blank. Some kid dropped their new journal, probably. His face dropped as he imagined the mysterious person frantically searching through their bags for it, only to find it was gone. He had gone through such a thing before, and always hated the panic rushing through his chest.

Leaning back, he placed the book on his lap and tried to close his eyes for a moment. The added layer of darkness seemed to do the opposite than he wanted, however, as he soon found himself staring at the off-white ceiling instead. Sleep would not come. He rubbed his fingers on the journal, mind flickering back to previous thoughts.

An outlet is... a good thing to have. A coping mechanism, though he didn't really have any good need for one. He pulled his briefcase onto the seat next to him and opened it, swiftly pushing the clothing aside out of paranoia. There was an unopened green box with yellow text on it. He ripped it open and pulled out a black pen.

Turning back to the journal, he opened it up. To his surprise, there were already a few words written in it, though upon closer inspection, the words seemed to have been printed on the page. It really was a child's journal. He put the pen to the page, right after the Dear Diary, but stopped short.

What was there even to say? Dear Diary, I'm alone. Dear Diary, I miss my parents. Dear Diary, I don't like growing up. All of them seemed to ridiculous to say, words that he barely even let himself think past the darker corners of his mind. The subway bumped to a stop, and he accidentally fell forward. Righting himself, he looked back at the page. Already ruined, apparently.

He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. When was the last time he slept more than a few hours? They say justice never sleeps, but he certainly does, and would like to ask the rest of justice to give him a break. Blinking back at the white page, he tried to write again. 

Dear Diary, I feel ridiculous. I don't know why I'm here, why I'm trying. What's the point if I don't have any motivations?

He shuddered and stopped. It felt wrong, like he was making a bigger deal out of it. Suddenly, he wanted to smack himself in the head. What's the point in impressing a journal with a normal life? The journal wouldn't be offended if he lied a little, exaggerated the facts, complained a bit. And he couldn't deny that he really wanted to once he got started.

Reading over what he wrote, he strained his eyes in the bright lights and moved the book closer. Maybe he needed glasses? He furrowed his brows and tried to imagine himself with some, but couldn't think of anything but his father. Frowning, he stuck his tongue out and focused once more on the page.

I'm tired, but I don't feel it until I get home. Isn't that weird? And, wel it's not like the normal kind of tired. I can feel it, deep down. In my chest, there's a heavy weight, and every night I come home on the subway it seems heavier and heavier. At work,

He stopped again. He couldn't help but feel weird that he was writing such personal things in public on top of writing out his thoughts. The train was about halfway to his destination, the car still completely empty, but he couldn't help the feeling that someone could easily peer over his shoulder and know everything he wrote down. Shifting his legs and briefcase, he created a small barrier. A little world for him to write in, that if he blocked the top with his body, no one else could see in. Sure, it might look ridiculous to anyone watching, but he felt a little safer this way.

He leaned down and settled in, feeling soft and vulnerable for the first time that night. The chug chug clank badoom of the machine around him faded more into the background, and the annoying lights were blocked by his shadow, not dark enough to be unable to make out the book below him.

I feel like a little kid right now. Like my father is going to co Like the car is my room, and I'm trapped inside alone with my thoughts and a pen and paper. Nothing to do but let it all out. I heard its cathartic, to finally yell and scream and cry at whatever hurts you, but a hero can't just do that. I hate it. I feel so distant from everyone else.

The lines of the paper were large, and he soon had to turn the page to continue.

They say people put heroes on a pedestal, but it feels more like I'm stuck in a ditch and they want to see how I figure my way out. On my own, solving my own problems. I wish mom was here, just as a mentor or someone to advise me. 

He didn't notice until he ran into it, but a small drawing made up a large space of the second paper. A pencil drawn kitten meowed at him, though the text bubble had an asterisk on it. Moving his arms from where they shielded the pages, he picked up the book and brought it closer to his face, trying to see the small message written underneath the cat.

After a moment or two of staring, he soon gave up. Instead, he sat up and opened the briefcase on it's side again, rummaging through the clothes inside until he found where he had hidden his phone. It wasn't the newest model, but it would do. He leaned back from the page, letting the proper lights hit it once more, and carefully took a picture of the message.

Moving everything else to the side, he focused entirely on his phone. Using his fingers, he zoomed in as much as he could on the blurry text from the book. "Stay pawsitive!" He murmured, checking again that it fit what was on the actual page.

With a sigh, he closed the book and placed it in the briefcase with everything else he had taken out of it. He put his head in his hands, pushing his eyes into the heels of his thumbs. Bright white lights danced in the darkness behind his eyelids, and he watched them for a short moment. The stinging in his eyes made an upcoming headache worse, though the lanterns they could see enticed him to watch for more. 

Watching them move around as the subway shifted this way and that felt like an old memory, or a familiar sense of deja vu. Try as he might, any chance of explaining where the feeling came from quickly slipped through his fingers, and he found himself eventually moving his hands and wincing at the pain around his nose.

The subway came to a stop, and with it, his destination. He stood up and grabbed his suitcase, shuffling towards the far door and stepping out onto the station. His chest felt heavy, and he think he knew why. Usually he could hold it off until he laid down to go to sleep, alone with his thoughts for a few hours, but writing it out made it... different.

The weight in his chest felt weird, and seemed to bleed into the rest of his body as he walked around. His head felt stuffy, eyes blinking at any bright lights, limbs feeling foreign. But he kept moving, keeping his pace steady, ignoring his thoughts and brain and limbs until he found himself at a grey doorway.

He opened his briefcase for the third time that night, only to feel his phone vibrating in his hand. Must have turned off the sound while looking at it earlier. One glance at the contact picture threw his heart into a flurry, and suddenly his whole body was attempting to lift itself back from where it was before. His face lifted into a grimace, then a forced smile, eyebrows raising as far as they would go as his traitorous fingers accepted the call.

"Mom! I didn't expect you to call so late!" He nearly shouted into the phone, then winced and tried to dial it back a bit. "Do you need something?"

He fumbled with his still-open briefcase and pulled out a pair of keys, trying to mash his phone into his shoulder while doing so.

"Oh, Ronnie dear." The phone made her voice sound higher than it was, but the wavering tone was unmistakable. "I really wasn't expecting you to still be up. You should really be asleep, kiddo."

She fretted at him some more as he preoccupied himself with getting the door open and himself inside, letting the familiar vocabulary and worry wash over him with relish. "Sorry I haven't called lately Mom." He pushed the door closed and walked inside, throwing his suitcase on the chair immediately to his left. 

He could hear her smile through the phone. "I'm just glad you picked up." She seemed to whisper, and he ignored a pang of guilt at his own first instincts earlier. 

Instead, he grinned at the phone and walked to his room, flicking on the soft yellow lights and flopping onto the light blue bed with a happy sigh. Though it had only been a day since he was last here, the familiar scent of smoke and dry wood clogging up his nose for a moment. He sneezed, and glanced at the fireplace in his room. Cold. He must be imagining it. 

"Ron?"

He snapped back to attention. "Sorry Mom! Were you telling me something?"

There was a moment of silence. "Not really but..." She trailed off, and he frowned at the fireplace again. "I just wanted to tell you I'm proud of what you've done, even if your father isn't."

Quiet. He looked down at the bed, face feeling heavy once more. She must have sensed the mood change, because she quickly added on to it. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like talking about him anymore. I just thought you should know. I'll go now."

Before he could say anything, the phone call ended, and the silence fell throughout the apartment once more. A snarky voice in the back of his head muttered 'good riddance' before he forcefully snatched it away and locked it back up. This journal writing was a bad idea, he decided.

Standing up, he walked to the fireplace and crouched in front of it. There were a few charred logs remaining, but they were surrounded by a small pile of ash. The same as yesterday. He sighed and threw a few more logs he left on the side in, quickly pushing out the flames to the skin of his hands and lighting them. The warmth of the fire immediately greeted him as he pulled away, and he turned off the lights in the room.

He walked back to his bed and sat at the end of it nearest to the fire, letting the orange-yellow glow frame his figure for a long moment. His eyes burned into the blaze, catching every small detail of each flame as it danced around, eating at the wood hungrily. Then he closed them, and let his body slide off the bed until he was sitting with his knees in his face up against the side of the bed. And soon enough, he fell asleep.


	4. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the shortest one so far, but I quite like how it went

Sometimes, she doesn't think its even worth it.

When she finds herself sitting in her room, staring at the wall, star light streaming through the open window, she can't seem to fathom why she's even there. What's the point, after all?

So much has happened. It's hard to get it clear in her head. So much has happened and is happening and will or might or can or-

Her parents' voices ring through her head, "Slow down sweetie," they laugh quietly, "We can't hear you if you're all riled up!"

Right. Yes. Slower.

And suddenly, the days trickle by. When she comes to, she's laying in bed and her mother is quietly asking her to come down for breakfast in the doorway. When she comes to, she's having a conversation with her father, a mostly silent debate on how the coffee for the day should be brewed. 

It stops being when she comes to, and begins again as when she wakes up.

When she wakes up, she goes downstairs to the kitchen and cooks something small. No pancakes, the liquid makes her insides squirm, but some cereal and fruit on a large platter. Her parents are very pleasantly surprised when she brings it to them, and even more so when she jokes that she isn't too young to be doing this now.

When she wakes up, she heads out the door, an apple and notebook in hand, heading to the bus stop in the early hours of the morning to avoid the crowd. The early morning light seeps through the misty glass around the bench and her heart feels lighter. She has never been more ready for a first day of school in her life.

Her life begins to move on, more linear, less jumping. Waking up is every day, and new things happen every day. No longer is her life punctuated by moments of clarity among a mess of darkness and exhaustion. Every moment brings a sort of shock to her brain, any touch a shock to her nervous system, and any new sight a shock to her memories, of how much has changed.

Not that she minds. It's definitely better than it was before.

However... on some days, she can feel it lingering in the back of her mind. Some days, she has to call out sick at the hospital. She waves off the worries of her coworkers and jokes of her superiors to come in for a check up. Looking at needles makes her sick to her stomach and she doesn't want to see them more than she has to.

On those days, she finds herself back where she started. Star light, wall, window. Star light, wall, window. A sense of monotony that breaks up the fresh new days she has surrounded herself with since she finally broke away from the hazy exhausting days.

Eventually, she decides that this isn't it. So what she feels bad? She has a job, so she should do it.

The next day, she has a meeting with her boss. She pushes through her fear, her hatred, and admits her useless power. And he brings up a way to make it useful. She carefully does not admit its side effects. What does it matter anyway?

The dark exhausting days return, but she fills them with a sense of purpose. She is doing this for the right reason. Though she cannot hide the side affects any longer, they begin to give her off days to deal with it.

It is on one of these off days that she meets him.

Ron's the kind of guy who you just expect to be a super hero in disguise. He is chatty and dorky and disappears at the first sign of danger with some lame excuse as to where he went. He even pretends to have a relationship with his alter ego to fix any inconsistencies with his story.

With all of these quirks, how could Janae not fall in love with him?

Not to say that it was voluntary. Someone like her, regardless of a change of heart, should not be with someone like him. It is simply unethical and morally wrong.

But he doesn't know that. When she is sitting in the cafe on her off day, he approaches her with a shy smile and a cup of coffee that he instantly drops on her when he trips on the askance of a seat. In that heated moment, the coffee searing her skin and ruining her new white blouse, she recognizes him. A local hero, obviously on an off day as well.

After some more bumps in the road, she wakes up one day to find herself in bed next to him. She writes a note and leaves, calling her boss for a day off, and then throws up in the safe confines of her room.

The rest of the day is another star light-wall-window. She hates it.

When she can stop him from avoiding her, she instantly confronts him. She apologizes. He accepts. Their relationship continues on.

The next time she wakes up, she's in her bed with him. No, it's their bed now, she reminds herself.

Life with her (hero-boyfriend-fiance-hero-) is different. She isn't sure how, but it is.

Every day she still goes to work. She comes to their apartment at the same time in the middle of the night, and he greets her the exact same way, hiding bruises as though she doesn't work at a hospital. Every day he disappears from conversations to return a few hours later, some excuse or another on his lips. She never asks, he never tells.

It gets to a point where the words start to creep up her throat. They sit on her lips, making her words heavy. She talks less, listens more. He notices, but she is aware that his shy attitude will not permit him to bring it up. She plans on it. Better to live in silence than to admit what had happened, make it real, and make him hate her.

She loves him. She realizes this one day, sitting quietly in the evening glow of the sun on her bed. She is reading a book while he plays with her hair, and she is staring absentmindedly at the wall. She loves him, and he loves her.

The words become lighter, in that moment. She turns to him, meets his eyes, his inquisitive gaze. Her mouth opens. "Honey, I need to tell you something."

He smiles at her, relieved, realizing what this moment is. "Yes?"

And just like that, the words, slam her mouth shut with a final clack. His eyes, the love, the curiosity. She can't ruin this. If she keeps her words flowing, she will ruin this. He will not love her. And she will still love him. It would hurt more to lose him than to keep her mouth shut.

She smiles dimly and mutters, "I love you," before turning back to her book. She tries to ignore his disappointed sigh. It's for the best. If he knew, he would want her to keep her mouth shut. She slams the book shut and lays down in the bed, muttering a good night, and the lights are soon turned off for her.

She loves him so much. So she will cling to him. Her silence for his love. She could never lose that and so he will never gain any knowledge of her past sins. 

Just his love makes it definitely worth it.


End file.
